


It's Okay to Not be Okay

by okaywhateverokayyes



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Emotional pain, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Dialogue, Isak's POV, M/M, Memories, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:58:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaywhateverokayyes/pseuds/okaywhateverokayyes
Summary: Isak's thinking about the pieces of paper that Even still leaves him in the morning- about parallel universes and how he writes all these words that somehow are strung together to sound more articulate than Isak could ever make them sound-And it dawns upon him, what all of it means.





	It's Okay to Not be Okay

**Author's Note:**

> SOOOOOOOOO, yeah.

At first, his head’s reeling. He kneads his fingers into the mattress as he hangs his head to stare at his feet. Isak wiggles his toes and presses them into tiles until they are a ghostly white. His ears start to buzz and he suddenly feels suffocated by the room. Sure, it’s tinier than the one had been in before and if he doesn’t watch where he’s going, he’s bound to hit something and recoil as he expresses his disdain with a few curses-but this suffocation is something entirely different.

It hits him in chest but it spreads not only to his throat and renders him speechless- he has to clutch onto his stomach when the throbbing that induces in his lower pit is undeniably tangible. He’s muscles ache with such intensity, he can’t pinpoint where the sore starts and where it ends. He feels his skin prickle with such warmth, he almost is enveloped by the sheer jabs of it.

It’s constraining and he has to take shallow breaths just to stay focused.

“I just thought…”

“kissed him…..”

 _Mikael_.

“He freaked-“

“…I just didn’t know what else I could do…”

“…thought the Qu’ran would help me understand..”

 _I had an episode_.

“…maybe you heard about the posts…”

 _Facebook_. _Sonja_.

“…I wasn’t thinking-first it was one and then I had _so many_ in my hands-“

 _Pills_. Pills.

 _Shit_.

Isak slides his hand behind his neck, swipes at his skin as he tugs at the strands of hair clamped to his flesh. His eyes gravitate towards the window, notices it’s open but sits there and wonders whether it’s hot air swarming the room because _shit_ , _it’s hot_.

When he resumes his glare back on to Even, warm eyes meet his. It’s a smoldering and pained look that Even wears that Isak has a hard time digesting. He goes to extend his arm out because that overwhelming disdain he has when he sees Even’s thinned lips, his frantic eyes wavering as if what he has just said was _too much,_ in a short period of time, as if he’s scared of the words and how Isak would respond to it-

It pains Isak to the point where he wants to wipe that look off of Even’s face but he bites down on his tongue as he fists the blanket into his hand to restrain himself.

 He’s tried not to push before because _shit_ , he understands that sometimes somethings were better left unsaid and he’s not going to _force_ him to say something that he’s not ready to say.

Minute for minute.

Isak promised him that.

He’s not going to go back on that.

Eventually those minutes accrued to months but to ask made him grimace.

 _He’ll tell him when he’s ready_.

 _He’s not telling him for a reason_.

_It’s ok._

_It’s OKAY_.

But _this_?

“You’re not saying anything.” It’s a soft and meek mutter that causes Isak to blink fastidiously.

Even’s settled against the drawer, knees up to his chin, his hands wrapped around his legs tentatively and timidly. Everything about Even makes Isak want to scream right there and then. He has to stifle a gasp as he lurches forward.

Isak wraps his hands over Even’s, kneads their fingers together as he hangs barely over the edge of the bed.

“I love you.” Isak begins with, waits for Even to absorb it before he repeats it again, “I love _you_.”

Even presses his cool forehead against Isak’s, letting out a languid sigh that swallows the entire room.

“I love _you_.” Even eventually replies with, void of any trepidation.  

Isak wraps his hand behind Even’s, fisting his hair in his fingers as he presses their heads further together. His clampy flesh sticks to Even’s brisk skin. The sheer coolness unnerves Isak as he pulls back slowly to press his lips to his forehead.

“I’m sorry I d-“

“I don’t want you to apologize,” Isak whispers, “You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.”

“Yeah, but-“ Even pauses, glancing away as his eyes waver all over the room, “-I should have told you sooner. I _wanted_ to. I just didn’t know what you’d say or do. I thought that if I told you about _this_ , you’d-“ Even’s ruminating as he glances away. There’s a small crease that appears in his forehead as he concentrates on pulling the string that peeks out from the hem of his jeans. He tugs and tugs, doesn’t get very far but he doesn’t stop trying.

“Leave?” Isak’s voice is strained as he supplies the word.

Even hangs his head, slightly extricating his hands from Isak’s to create circular motions on his knee-

Which gives away everything even though nothing had been said. Isak shuts his eyes close as he takes a harsh inhale-exhale-another inhale-

“Is that what you seriously think I would do?” Isak’s almost hurt at the insinuation because what has these last few months been? Hasn’t he been the kind of person that Even could rely on or was that illusory?

Isak slides his hand slightly downwards, unclenching his fingers before pressing them into the hoof of Even’s shirt.

“I’m sorry if I gave that impression.”

“You _haven’t_ ,” Even is quick to reply, “You haven’t,” his voice is soft as he repeats his words, “I just-I still worry you know?” Which in all honesty, he doesn’t, “I worry that what you and I have, it’s just too good to be true.” Even waves his hands in the air as if his point was made, “Yeah?”

 _No_.

 _Nope_.

And for all intensive purposes, it’s only exacerbated by the fact that Even thinks there was a valid point to be made. Unreliable? Maybe he’s been slightly unreliable when it comes to things like washing the dishes. Or knowing how to warm up tea when there’s no kettle-but not for things that _matter_. He’s running through material in his mind as he takes a walk to school-thinking about RNA polymerases and hybridization, Heisenberg’s principle which, he has to contend, remembering all five is only worsened by the fact that three had been disproved-

He likes to think he’s aware of things happening around him.

He’s _not_ stupid.

When Even’s pacing across the floor, tells him that he’s only trying to measure how much space is left for a bean bag-he’s not daft when he can easily sense the way Even would flicker his eyes towards the ceiling as he mutters the words. As if Isak looked into his eyes, he’d just _know_.

When Bakka even comes up, Isak feels the way Even’s fingers tense up under his. Isak doesn’t turn to stare at him, doesn’t want to make it too obvious that he knows that he’s tense so he runs circles on the palm of Even’s hand, hopes it works-hopes its soothing-hopes that Even knows that there’s nothing he has to tell him if he doesn’t want to. Especially if he’s not ready for it.

And for Isak to realize, in that moment-that he’s managed to colossally fail in relaying that message-

He looks for a wall to slam his head into.

“What are you thinking?”

Isak rubs at his face.

He’s thinking about Mikael.

He’s thinking about Bakka.

He’s thinking about what it must take to want to end your life.

He’s thinking about the pieces of paper that Even still leaves him in the morning- about parallel universes and how he writes all these words that somehow are strung together to sound more articulate than Isak could ever make them sound-

His lips are parched as he swipes his hand across his mouth. His throat is unbelievably dry that he stands to walk towards the fridge, tugs on the knob and quaffs down the water. He has to slide his tongue over his lips when the water does nothing but sap him up even more.

Isak glances at the window again, takes quick strides towards the sill and extends his hand out.

There’s a breeze of air that sways across his skin, causing the hair on his flesh to stand up. He withdraws his hand and extends it out again, just to make sure, feels another breeze before he settles his hand to his side.

Yet, as he’s leaning against the frame of the window, the warmth resumes back in his face and he wonders what exactly he has to do to not feel this smothered.

It’s not that he feels suffocated because he’s been told _this_.

It’s the fact that he’s not sure he has anything to say that could _help_.

And it bothers him.

Because he wants to help.

Isak clamps down his jaw as he settles his eyes on Even, clenches his hands into a fist to stop the shiver that reverberates through his arms.

It bothers him that Even’s considered something like that.

It bothers him that there is nothing he could say that would take away that memory.

That pain-

That anguish-

That anger-

“You’d tell me if you ever feel like you can’t-“ he’s at a loss of words as he pauses, “you might consider-“ Isak wonders whether he’s being spoon-fed a word salad and that’s why he’s rendered inarticulate, “if you think about-“

Even settles his palms on the floor as he lifts himself up. As he stretches, Isak is always surprised how tall he is. His head almost scratches the surface of the ceiling, almost. But it’s when his neck retracts that he’s back to being, still the most above-average _towering_ guy, but it’s not as unanticipated.

Even takes three large strides before he’s across the room and has his hands wrapped across Isak’s waist. He nudges him slightly forward before Isak moves into the touch and if he’s being completely honest, Even doesn’t have to even do much for Isak to want to be enveloped by him. The touch is familiar and it’s a different kind of warmth that swims through his blood. It’s comforting and it’s tangible. It doesn’t make him feel discomforted.

It feels real and the sheer temperature reminds Isak that Even’s there. He’s right _there_ , with him. He’s not gone. Or gone gone. He’s with him, in this clamped up room, that’s scorching hot-

Isak is comforted as he feels the drumming of Even’s heart-

Because it reminds him that Even’s there. He’s just _there_.

The fact that there’s a possibility that he could not have been there-

Isak clenches his jaw.

“I promise that if I ever _do_ ,” Even breathes into his hair, “I’d tell you.”

Isak shifts under his touch until he’s pressed his nose into Even’s cheek, inching forward to only brisk his nose side to side for more of the warmth to emanate through him.

 He knows that they are just  _words_ and to be comforted by them is easy, but as Even tugs his chin up and presses his lips against his, murmuring once more, "I promise" as their foreheads touch, Isak knows that these words are invaluable.


End file.
